


black rose

by wrightsmiller



Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:47:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28085682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrightsmiller/pseuds/wrightsmiller
Summary: victorian age au
Kudos: 6





	black rose

"Your next job," your employer stated blandly, "might be more difficult than you're used to."

"Tell me about it," you barely even glanced up as you agreed, instead choosing to straighten out your coat that hung slightly above your knees. "You've been tasked to assassinate the crown princess."

A shocked look crossed your face, unable to process what he had just said, "Pardon?"

"You heard me right. There's a ball tomorrow night, it's a masquerade, where she will be looking for a suitor, but you must kill her before midnight, otherwise you've failed, and all the terms of the contract are void, and she is to be queen."

"And why would that be such a bad thing?"

"That's not your concern. It's a job. It's already paid for, but the condition is if you fail, you're turning yourself in to the police, which basically means you're dead."

"So it's either me or her," you muttered, twisting the silver ring that sat on your middle finger, "Death is the only option."

"Yes, it is. Now get ready, here are the details, you'll be picked up at nine tomorrow night," your boss ordered, folder in his hand, "Don't mess up."

You nodded solemnly, the folder now clutched in your shaky hands. With that, you stepped out of his office, out into the busy street, contemplating your choices. You barely knew anything about the princess, all you were aware of was that both of you were the same age, but there was still that lingering hesitancy that had never showed up before when it came to your job.

Being an assassin meant detaching yourself emotionally from anything and everything, killing anyone who needed to be killed. It had always come easy for you, which is what had earned you the title 'The Black Rose'. The sweet-smelling flower, innocent-looking enough, possessed the scent that was considered an omen of death, which is why you used it as your perfume, and as the signature on the dead body you always left behind.

There was still no explanation as to why you were feeling this way about the job. You had killed more royalty than you'd care to mention, more people with familial ties, more strangers, so why were you squeamish about ending the life of a single princess?

Still deep in thought, you walked down your usual route and back to your house, where your cousin Lucas was making tea in the kitchen. "How did it go?"

"Not so bad?" you replied tentatively, "It's nothing I haven't done before, but I'm hesitant about this."

"Then don't take the job, Y/N," he replied, sliding you a cup of tea, "If it goes against your morals, then it isn't worth it."

"I am an assassin. Everything about my job goes against whatever morals I have. Something about this job just doesn't feel right to me."

You opened the folder as you took a sip of your tea, staring at the photograph of the royal you were tasked to kill. Trying to analyze what exactly about her had drawn you into this mess. She looked pretty enough, regal as the crown princess should be, and she looked worthy to rule. Why would anyone want to kill her?

"You're murdering the crown princess?" Lucas asked, "She's under such heavy guard, how do you plan to get to her?"

Tucking the photograph back into the now-closed folder, you gulped down some warm tea before replying, "I'm infiltrating the masquerade ball tomorrow night. She'll be looking for a suitor, all I have to do is ask her to dance with me, engage in some conversation, and get her alone."

"What weapon do you plan to bring?"

"Something concealable and inconspicuous. Maybe a knife. It makes for the most convenient kill, but absolutely the most dreadful to clean up after."

"Not to mention you have to be smart as to where you strike the target. If you miss, they could survive," he chuckled, drying his hands on a towel before browsing the folder.

"Still, killing her doesn't feel right," you sighed miserably as you paced back and forth around the kitchen. Lucas stared at you in thoughtful silence as you racked your brain for whatever your morals were. There was no reasonable explanation for your hesitancy, and you were not willing to compromise your life because of your unwillingness to do your job, much less because of someone you didn't know.

There was only one answer to this, whatever it was, dilemma, moral conflict, no matter the case, there was only one answer.

"I'm doing it."

★★★

You secured the buttons of your suit once more, evaluating yourself in the mirror as Lucas tied the mask around your face. "If ever you decide to back out of this and simply dance with the princess, you look good at any rate."

"I always look good, dear cousin," you chided gracefully, "You simply choose not to acknowledge it because you know I look better in a suit than you do."

"Are you going to let the princess know you're not a man? Or will she be comfortable dancing with another woman?"

"If I'm being honest, I have no idea whatsoever. Let's see where the night takes us, shall we?"

"Wise decision, now turn around so I can see you."

"Quite frankly, I sometimes forget you're of the female specimen," Lucas chuckled, readjusting the mask on your face, "I can't even recall the last time I've seen you in a dress."

"Who says I'm of the female specimen? And I do wear dresses, Lucas, just not often. When it's a man I need to kill, a particularly enticing dress makes my job a lot easier."

"Like when you killed the Marquess of Manchester? I think you were highly uncomfortable leaving in that gown."

"He seemed to enjoy my company then," you scoffed, "until I dropped some arsenic into his wine, that is."

"I remember how annoyed you were that he accidentally stained your gown when he coughed up blood during the dance."

"If he wasn't a corpse already, I would've killed him on the spot."

Both of you burst into fits of laughter, miming the act of strangling a dead body, before hearing the clock chime nine, and you had to wrestle your face into a deadpan expression as you entered the carriage your employer had sent. "I'll see you later tonight. You are telling me all about whatever happens at the ball."

With a mock bow, you smirked, "Of course I will, dear cousin, if you can handle the extremity of my skills, that is."

"What skills are you pertaining to? I only know of hesitancy and much complaining."

"Very funny, Lucas. I'll see you later."

"You nearly forgot this," he said, grabbing you by the shoulder and pinning your signature black rose to the front of your coat. "Thanks for that."

"You're welcome. Now go and make me proud."

Leaning back and sighing, you glanced out of the carriage window, where your loyal cousin stood, watching you leave as you had done so many other nights before.

Only this time, you weren't so sure if you'd be returning alive.

★★★

"And you are?" the snooty guard holding a guest list inquired. You absolutely despised these stuck-up lowlifes who thought they were better than everyone else because they held authority over whether or not they would let you into royal events. "Viscount Jean Lisanthium of Dorchester."

Jean. Such a pretty name, wasn't it? A name of Hebrew origin, meaning "God is gracious". It was your go-to alias, especially when you were posing as a nobleman, because you liked the irony of it all, the royal target dancing with someone whose name meant "God is gracious", only to find out that name was a harbinger of their impending death.

"Good evening, my Lord, have a splendid evening," the guard simpered, his weaselly face curled into a very much obviously fake smile, and you had no choice but to force yourself into one as well. "And a splendid evening to you."

The ballroom was bathed in an ethereal glow, all the nobles lingering about the edges of the room in all their finery, the magnificent silks and satins, the laces and diamonds all glittering in the light of the chandeliers that hung from the towering ceilings. Your black suit blended in the crowd, yet made you stand out enough that you could be spotted from the other side of the massive ballroom.

"Would you like a drink, my Lord?" a butler offered a tray filled with glasses, from which you selected a harmless-looking gin.

The orchestra played a particularly light waltz, and you skirted around the edges of the room, taking sips of your drink. The crown princess had just entered the room, wearing a royal blue gown, and she looked just as breathtaking as she was in her photograph. It was a pity you had to kill her.

Numerous suitors, all bedecked in extravagant fabrics, made their way to her and asked her to dance, none of which she indulged. Feeling brave, you crossed the floor and offered your hand, "May I have this dance, Your Highness?"

She looked you up and down, assessing your appearance, which seemed to be trying to be invisible, and placed her gloved hand in yours, with a rather curt, "Yes, you may."

The waltz played on, and you led her in dancing, and it was a good thing you were taller than her, because if you hadn't been, she might have suspected something was afoot. Her face was concealed by a white mask, but her striking blue eyes bore into yours, seemingly assessing your entire being in a glance.

Unlike the others she had dismissed without as much as a second thought, you struck her as intriguing, making her want to give you a chance to win her over.

"Permission to speak, Your Highness?" you asked respectfully. She seemed surprised by the politeness in your tone and replied, "Permission granted."

"How are you on this fine evening, my Lady?"

Twirling her once and leading her towards the center of the room, where all the other guests had cleared a path for the crown princess and her suitor, she was thoughtful for a moment, "Quite frankly, I am not sure."

"Do you not enjoy these events?"

"I have never considered whether I do or not, but it is my duty, as crown princess, to find a suitor who is capable and worthy of carrying the bloodline forward into history."

"That seems like a dreadful burden to carry, does it not?" you responded, your quick wits enabling you to carry the conversation on even as you subtly started leading her across the room.

"If you were born knowing nothing else but this burden, then should you not have been used to it by now?"

"Have you ever considered the idea of being anything else rather than what you were born into?"

She stared directly into your eyes, intrigued by your questions, "What would be the purpose in that, may I ask?"

"In my rather worthless opinion," you said, quite straightforwardly, "I believe that everyone should be given a chance to decide what they would like to do in life, and not force themselves into becoming whoever their parents were, but instead a person of their own."

"Perhaps you merely had a liberal upbringing, Sir-"

"Jean. Viscount Jean Lisanthium of Dorchester."

"Well, Sir Jean, even if I were given the chance to change whatever I was born into, I still would not be able to imagine being anything but what I was meant to be."

"The reigning monarch of England?"

"I am glad you understand," she replied, as she allowed you to twirl her once more.

"You fascinate me beyond measure, Your Highness," you spoke with a deadpan expression, yet meaning it with every fiber of your being, "And yet I still do not know anything about you."

"And what is it you wish to know, my good Sir?"

"What am I permitted to learn?"

"Anything you wish, but only until midnight."

Midnight. That was right. By that time, either you or she must be dead. You risked a glance at a clock that hung above the grand entryway, it was ten in the evening already, the time you had spent conversing with your target had flown by without you realizing.

"Well, what is your name, my Lady?"

"My name is Emily Olivia Leah, Crown Princess of England," she answered with an air of natural nobility, "And you, my Lord? Are you truly Viscount Jean Lisanthium of Dorchester?"

"Without a doubt, my Lady. Why would I mislead you?"

"One can never truly know another's true intentions. A dear friend may stab you in the back given a knife."

Your heart leapt into your throat at her words, the weight of your conscience crashing down on you, "That seems rather cynical, does it not?"

"Clearly, you have not yet experienced betrayal like I have."

"And I think I should hope not to."

"Tell me about yourself, Sir Jean," she said, blue eyes twinkling in the moonlight as you registered the two of you were slowly making your way out of the ballroom and onto the balcony that overlooked the garden. "What is you would like to know?"

"How were you brought up? Your family, perhaps?"

"I have one younger sister, Mary, but I am much closer with my cousin Lucas. He was the one who accompanied me to London for both our studies."

"I take it only the two of you live here in London?"

"You are correct," you replied, "But we do go back to Dorchester during the holidays to visit our family. What about you, my Lady, what did you enjoy studying most?"

"I quite like language classes. Speaking different languages appears to prevent me from stuttering while speaking."

It was becoming near impossible to focus on what she was saying, because you found yourself being mesmerized by her eyes, her voice, everything about her seemed to be pulling you in dangerously.

"Stuttering? With your eloquent manner of speaking, I would never for a moment have thought you suffered from a stutter."

"Never take things at face value, Sir Jean. You never truly know what a person is hiding under a seemingly appealing facade."

The clock suddenly chimed eleven, you had spent over an hour conversing about these menial things, and yet, you seemed to want nothing more than for everything to stay the way it was, this enigma of a woman dancing with you in the cool moonlight. Your silver knife concealed in your coat sleeve seemed to weigh a lot more than it did earlier.

"Would you give me the honor of a walk in the garden?" you said, offering your hand to her as you had done at the beginning of this entire fiasco. "Never in all the royal events I have attended has any man asked me to walk with him."

"Might I take that as a yes?"

"Of course you may," she chuckled lightly, the first time the whole night you had seen her smile, it just made your hesitation for this even worse. Taking your outstretched hand, she allowed you to lead her down the steps and into the garden, where the moonlight reflected on the fountain, and the warm glow of the ballroom was replaced by a comforting misty darkness in the cool night. "Are you cold, my Lady?"

"No, I'm quite alright, thank you for asking."

You allowed her to insert her arm into the crook of your elbow, and both of you walked down the cobblestone path that led deeper into the hedge garden, "Do you enjoy nights like these?"

"Nights like what, exactly?"

"Cold, misty nights, away from all the other people, taking solace in the company of only the moon in the dark sky."

"If I'm being completely honest, I never have time on my own," she sighed, her accent still impeccable, regardless of how negatively she seemed to feel about the inquiry, "There's always someone with me, no matter what time of day, which makes it difficult to answer your question."

"I used to think royals had it all," you remarked frankly, "But from what I've heard from you, I don't think I would survive the life you live."

"It's all a matter of perspective, is it not? How can you ever imagine yourself living a life you've never lived? It is as difficult for a pauper to imagine themselves living a life of nobility as it is for the highest royal to imagine themselves living the life of a commoner."

"You speak wisdom well beyond your years, Your Highness."

Holding her skirt up a little to walk faster, she glanced around to see if anybody was nearby and upon seeing nobody, led you around the palace, to a back door, where you both snuck in and climbed up to a balcony that overlooked the party. "Tell me what you see, Sir Jean."

"They appear to be dancing and enjoying themselves," you answered tentatively, not aware of what she was trying to convey. "Everyone appears to be having fun, do they not? But they are all wearing masks, so you can never tell what lies beneath the surface."

"Is that not the beauty of a masquerade? It enables you to know a person based on their personality, not whatever outward appearance they may possess."

"Precisely why I chose this ball to find my suitor. Nobody truly wants me for me, all they want is a chance at power and the crown. But that is the one talent I have. I can look beneath the surface and all the deceit and the lies and see what a person truly is."

Her foreboding tone as she removed her pure-white mask sent a chill running down your spine, even if you had no idea why she had sparked this admiration in you. "And what do you see in me, might I ask?"

"I see a person who truly matches me for everything I am, yet is hiding. Not just behind their physical mask, but hiding who they are. So now I ask you, Viscount Jean Lisanthium of Dorchester, who are you?"

The clock began chiming twelve, the deed had to be done now, otherwise it was your life that would be taken. Removing your own mask and drawing your knife, you stared her directly in her crystal-blue eyes, and answered her in nothing but pure honesty.

"My name is Y/N Chrysanthia from London. I am also known as The Black Rose, notorious assassin of royals and commoners alike. I have been tasked to kill you by midnight."

"If you must kill me, do it swiftly and without hesitation, my dear Y/N," Emily said with conviction, unwavering even in the face of death, "I have never met anyone I have loved as much as you, even if it was only for a night."

"Please, Your Highness, don't make this harder than this needs to be," you cried out in anguish, tears welling up in your eyes, "I have never felt any emotion in my life, but I love you more than anyone in this world."

Steadily approaching you, she removed the gloves from her hands and yours, intertwining your fingers with hers, "Will you allow me to kiss you before I die?"

A tear escaped your eye as you pulled her in for a kiss, the first either of you had ever received, yet the last for one. The clock struck twelve, and you whispered, "I love you," once more before plunging the silver knife into your chest.

"Y/N!" Emily exclaimed, holding your body close to hers, not caring about the bloodstains in the slightest. You released a choking cough, staining your coat further with the crimson liquid that was tainting you both. "Why have you done this?"

"Neither of us can live while the other survives, my Lady," you managed as you shakily took the rose you had been planning to leave on her corpse and laid it in her hand. With every ounce of effort you could muster, you took the silver ring that rested on your ring finger, which was embellished by a green crystal, one of the very few objects of extravagance that you owned, and handed it to her as well, "I love you."

"I love you, Y/N."

"Don't forget me, please?"

"I won't," she said, hot tears starting to escape her eyes as she watched the life slowly drain out of you, her blue dress stained with the red of you, ironically just like her, now haunted by the ghost of your smile, the echo of your voice, the girl she had fallen in love with over barely a night, "I love you, Y/N."

It was unbearably painful for her to call for the guards and request them to prepare your body for burial, even more so to track down your cousin and tell him you had killed yourself to spare her life, but she put on a brave face through it all and maintained her composure, never showing weakness.

Lucas didn't hold Emily accountable for your untimely death, after all, he knew it was an occupational hazard for you to lose your life with every assassination you partook in, and he was lucky to have had the chance to live by your side for as long as he had been able to, but that didn't make the loss any easier to bear.

He stopped by the palace as per her request in the days leading up to your funeral. It was quite strange, the crown princess arranging the funeral of a notorious assassin who had been tasked to kill her, but nevertheless, the citizens respected her decisions, even when she was crowned queen without a king, pledging her loyalty entirely to a girl she had known only for a night.

Nobody understood the love she held for you, and nobody understood why she never told anyone what happened that night, all she had ever said was that you mattered very much to her, and that she owed nobody any explanations.

The only person who ever really knew what had unfolded that night was Lucas, who took the story to his grave, just like Emily had done.

As for you, well, nobody really knows what happens after death, do they?

But it could be no coincidence that this whole story unfolded in your mind on this particular morning. All while a stabbing pain shot through your chest as you watched a blonde walk into the café and make her way to the counter where you worked. Staring into her crystal-blue eyes, a look of recognition crossed her face for a fleeting moment before a man walked up next to her and took her hand.

Her hand that was wearing a ring on her ring finger. A ring that matched the ring on the man's hand exactly. Of course, she had to be married.

They placed their orders and took their food without sharing another glance with you, but even as they walked away, Emily couldn't help but notice the lingering smell of roses and the black rose you had tattooed on your arm as she subconsciously started touching the silver-and-green ring strung onto her necklace, both of you feeling the sting of the past in a place deep inside that made itself known once every lifetime.

No matter how many times you found each other, no matter how many lives you lived, there was never any place in this world for a love between a princess and an assassin.


End file.
